You and Me
by foxxandbeanz
Summary: During 3x17. Oliver and Felicity have a moment at the wedding. One-shot. Cannon. Olicity. You know the drill. A daydream and a prayer.


**A/N: Every story, every chapter I write has a song behind it. It's mostly for my benefit. But this time I'm going to have to insist. "You and Me" by You+Me. Seriously. XOXO**

Oliver Queen was sitting alone in a darkened corner just off the reception hall. Elbows on knees, he sat on an upholstered bench in the quiet alcove. His jacket was laid carefully beside him. He didn't remember when he'd undone the tie. Music from the party just reached him but the words were lost in the distance. Light shone under the closed double doors. No one else had come or gone. He hadn't been noticed. And he hadn't been missed.

He just didn't know what he was doing in there. Once all the ceremonial best man duties were discharged. He'd handed over the rings. Given his speech. Kissed the bride on the cheek. And then he'd run out of obligations and pretense. There was Thea who he spent about an hour watching out of the corner of his eye. What he saw was Roy. Roy made sure she ate dinner. Roy swapped her wine for water after two glasses. Roy was never out of her reach until Laurel dragged her on the dance floor. And Oliver could only admit that she was still in good hands.

He'd drifted to the bar. It had the best vantage point in the room. He thought he could at least watch every one else enjoy themselves. But his eyes found the same target again and again. And he didn't hide it well. She'd caught him looking. He was even glad. It was the looks he got from John that tested him. The groom tried to talk him away from the bar.

But then they both saw her, clearly in an argument with _him_ across the room. There was no mistaking the expression on her face. Oliver had seen it enough lately. Neither one was yelling. But there was a hell of a lot of animated hand gestures and eyebrow movements. Oliver tensed on reflex. Ready to swoop in at any moment. He knew she probably wouldn't welcome it. But John was ahead of him. Already on his way when Ray walked away from her. So Oliver watched as John led her to the dance floor.

He knew he couldn't nurse one scotch any longer. He'd set his glass down on the bar and slipped out the door when John turned his back. It was cooler and quieter in the hall, though he wasn't happy to hear himself think. It was probably the last thing he needed.

John thought he was still adjusting to the new dynamic of their team. Maybe he was. He had cause to question his place and his motives especially after Nanda Parbat. But Oliver had no doubts concerning why he came back, why he stayed. Why he would always stay. Why he couldn't go back into that party right now.

So he was sitting in the hall alone. He was trying to remember the last time he'd been at a wedding. A lot of alcohol had been involved, no doubt. Had he and Tommy actually been invited?

Oliver's head snapped up at the suction and pop of a door opening. Light spilled out of the banquet room only allowing him to see a shadowed figure at first. But then his eyes adjusted. Warm light settled around golden hair, liquefied down her shoulders and around the curves of her dress, glinting off her jewelry, her eyes, her lips. The effect was stunning.

He was stunned. His breath caught in his chest. He found himself on his feet as her searching gaze found him. He swallowed the lump in his throat that had prevented his breathing. She put her hands up behind her to brace the door as it closed and then she was walking toward him.

When she was close, too close, she finally said, "There you are."

Oliver wanted to rest his hands on the hips so easily within his grasp, so he tucked them into his pockets. He wanted to let loose the grin that just the sound of her voice, low and sweet, caused. So he bit it back for a halfhearted, closed lip smile.

She studied the effort. "You okay?" She brought her small, perfect hand to his arm like it was nothing. Like she had done it a hundred times. But it hadn't been that many, not by far. And he wasn't okay. He hated that her moving on, being with someone else was what brought this side of her back to him. And she could never know that.

"Yeah," he hesitated and he knew it. He followed up. "Yes."

"Because certain people might think that you were, you know?"

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head confused.

"Brooding about Arrow business. Which was expressly forbidden by the happy couple. John may have gone soft lately but I think Lyla could kick your ass."

"So do I," he conceded quietly. They both smiled, briefly.

Then her hand moved. He couldn't remember when her movements around him had stopped being nervous. After Slade, before the explosion. Her fingers ran the length of one suspender, almost absently. Her eyes followed. Her nails slicing with tantalizing lightness down his chest all the way to the waistband of his pants. And her pronoun was woefully deceitful when she murmured, "They deserve this."

It sent a shiver through Oliver's skin.

He took a step back. His hands came out to halt her when she countered. She pushed right into them. Oliver closed his eyes as his fingers melted into the fabric of her dress, palms sinking softly into the curves of her hips where they belonged. He couldn't move them. They would push her away. Or pull her in the rest of the way.

He felt just like he had that night, sitting across from her in the restaurant.

He tried to convey the danger when he opened his eyes. He failed. It wasn't a look he could ever give her. He didn't mean to but his eyes ran the length of her body. His thumbs twitched.

His exhale was heavy. "I should not be alone with you right now."

"Oliver." _God, did she have to tilt her head like that?_

"We've both been drinking-"

"You didn't even finish that scotch." She interrupted. How closely had she been watching him?

"We've both been drinking. You just had a fight with your date. And you are wearing that. Red dress. Red dress. All the time." The last part was just a breath and his forehead pressed against hers.

"What are you trying to say, Oliver?" Her hand laid flat over his heart. He couldn't think.

"Dance with me." He whispered.

"You don't dance."

His lip quirked. "I never said I didn't know how to dance."

She didn't look away. She didn't mention the almost nonexistent music. She didn't say a word.

He covered her hand with his on his chest. "Felicity. Dance with me." _Save me. Save me from myself, again._

She stepped into him. Her other hand brushed over his shoulder and settled on his neck. The hand on her hip wrapped around her waist. But he barely moved them. Anything more than a sway meant distance. She let herself nestle against him and he wondered for a second why. This wasn't what she wanted anymore.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I was thinking about Tommy before," he gave her a half truth.

"Oh, you two must have been a lot of fun at weddings," it wasn't quite a mock. Her voice was light but not envious. That wasn't an Oliver she'd ever wanted to know.

"I wish he knew," Oliver admitted.

"About Thea." She finished for him.

He nodded mostly for himself. "While I was gone – he took care of her. He was her brother. He should have known."

Then both her hands were bracing his neck, forcing his eyes to meet hers. And they were completely still. Noses practically touching. He was afraid to breath. He felt that shiver again. The warring in her eyes made his stomach drop.

"Felicity." He took a deep breath through his nose. She licked her lips. "I just wish-"

"I know." She pushed up on her toes. Her hips pressed into his.

He had one hand in the dip at the small of her back. The other was cemented between her shoulder blades. One pull had her breasts softly crushed to his chest. How could he want anything but this?

Her lips parted just slightly as one hand found its way under her hair. She made a sound. A needy sigh. And she closed her eyes.

Then the door to the party flew open. Light and noise bombarded them. She tensed in his arms for the first time that night. She stepped back and he let her.

Thea was frozen, staring at them in the doorway. Whatever mirth she'd entered the hallway with had disappeared. Remorse tainted her explanation. "They're throwing the bouquet."

Oliver turned to retrieve his jacket. Felicity was already gone when he faced the door again.

Thea slipped her arm through his wordlessly as they walked back into the party together.


End file.
